


Good for Each Other - A Collection of Adoribull Prompts

by MidoriEyes



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull - Freeform, Adoribull Prompt Sunday, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, One Shot, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-05-14 13:26:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5745538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidoriEyes/pseuds/MidoriEyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm making a space for what little adoribull prompts I've done on tumblr. You'll see mostly fluff, a variety of AU's, and some smut every once in a while. (No angst because I will see nothing but a happy future for my babbies.) It will continue to grow steadily, so be on the lookout for updates. :) Enjoy~!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wakey Wakey - Modern!AU

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "Dorian cooking Bull breakfast? Modern AU or not is fine (:"
> 
> Modern!AU ahoy! <3

“How do you like your eggs?”

“In my mouth.”

Dorian rolled his eyes at the snarky response and cracked one egg into the mixing bowl with an absolutely lethal flick of his wrist. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re one of those meatheads who eats a dozen raw eggs for breakfast.”

“Naw, I’m one of those meatheads who prefer to have their baby bird embryos cooked and seasoned to perfection.“

“Ah, yes. You Qunari and your flamboyant requisite to put spices in everything.”

“Says the pot to the kettle.”

Dorian shrugs, not bothering to keep the too-large neckline of Bull’s nightshirt from slipping off his right shoulder. “I supposed that’s why we make such an appetizing pair.”

The Bull’s smirk pulled at his scar as he admired the mage’s singular ensemble, which was decidedly delicious and disappointing at the same time. If only the torso didn’t completely shroud Dorian’s ass from his view.

“I love how saucy you get when you’re cooking, kadan.”

Dorian hummed, as if he already knew what a cheeky little tart he was being. Leave it to him to make the smallest gestures seem utterly narcissistic. “Speaking of, what sauce did you want with your sausage?”

When he was met with silence, an exasperated “shut up” came out automatically. He could practically hear the Bull biting his lip with glee.

“I mean, can you blame me, Dorian? You left yourself pretty open with that line. I’m not even sure where to go with it - so many possibilities!”

“Alright, that’s one dry rod of leather for Bull…”

“Maybe something light and creamy, with a bit of tang on the finish.”

“And two shriveled balls of yolk, coming right up.”

Bull laughed, deep and cheerful, as his partner sauntered over to the kitchen table with plates at the ready, all the while trying to stubbornly avoid the grabby, gray hands reaching for him. In the end, Dorian found himself sitting sidesaddle on Bull’s lap, made slightly uncomfortable by the impressive morning wood nudging into his right thigh.

“I hope that little problem child of yours won’t force me to reheat the breakfast which I have so lovingly prepared for us out of the goodness of my heart.”

“I’d say it’s far from ‘little’, kadan. And I don’t recall you ever complaining about Junior before,” Bull crooned in Dorian’s ear, dipping forward to press a kiss to the bronze skin of his companion’s exposed shoulder.

Dorian shuddered, his own “problem child” awakening as large, rough hands fit to the shape of his waist and hips, squeezing like they were molding fine clay.

“We really do need to eat, though. There’s that 9 A.M. meeting with the Inquisitor today, and…and….”

Dorian’s breathless attempts to protest the advances were lost to the wind as soon as that treacherous qunari mouth clamped over the length of his throat right near the juncture where shoulder met neck. He turned his head to meet the Bull’s lips with his own and sighed around his lover’s tongue, groping back with as much fervor as his smaller hands could manage, given the staggering expanse of shoulder meat and tight pectorals and chiseled jaw and oh Andraste it was enough!

“…And I believe we have some protein bars in the cupboard somewhere.”

The Bull smiled against the mage’s own mischievous grin. Perhaps breakfast on-the-go wasn’t such a terrible thing every now and then.


	2. Perfection - Modern!AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Florist Iron Bull and fussy Interior Designer Dorian"
> 
> Can you imagine the nit-picking? Head for the hills!

“No no no, that simply won’t do!” Dorian shooed the flowers away before they could enter the scene.

The florist adjusted his grip on the hourglass vase with an annoyed huff that he tried to mask as a grunt from exerting himself. “Seriously?”

“The composition is all wrong; it will clash with the tapestries.”

“Right…” Bull sighed, setting down the sixth flower arrangement he’d brought in that day.

There was nothing inherently wrong with it. Most customers loved the colorful assortment of lilies, bursting forth from every direction like fireworks suspended in midair, but Dorian wasn’t just any customer. He had hired Bull’s floral shop, Dawnstone Garden, on many occasions to add a bit of life and color to his own grandiose interior designs. The current client was Skyhold Hotels, who were in the process of building another string of luxurious locations, this time all throughout Fereldan, now that the economy had been picking back up. The CEO herself refuses to ask anyone other than Dorian Pavus of Pavus Interiors to decorate her chains, and so, almost by default, the team from Dawnstone tags along for the ride. Whether it had anything to do with the fact that the owners of said businesses had been dating for the past two years was never touched upon.

Too bad everything leading up to the finished product, critically acclaimed and often given a centerfold mention in southern Thedas’ most posh publications, was such a pain in the ass to deal with - no thanks to the picky Tevinter designer, who was still fussing about how the shape of this or that flower needed to mirror the ceiling’s architecture a little more closely.

“We need something with more width to offset the length of the table. It wouldn’t be a proper centerpiece to have it so unbalanced.”

“I showed you my biggest arrangements and you didn’t want them.” Bull gestured behind him to the rejected urns and basins holding other elegantly composed bouquets. “I even color coordinated with the carpet like you requested.”

Dorian gave them nary a glance before vehemently shaking his head. “They don’t command the attention we need for this particular focal point. This is what travelers are first going to see when they walk in, and if these people aren’t catching flies in their mouth by the time they check in, then we’ve failed to do our job.”

“Dorian,” Bull’s tone becomes good-natured at the dramatics to which Dorian likes to paint their work, “everything in this hotel was designed by _you_. I’m pretty sure the Fereldan country folk are going to have trouble blinking after walking through that door.”

“Ha! That’s just it, my dear Bull. With Orlesians, it’s easy. You just throw up a bunch of fancy imported fabrics, add some obnoxiously plush furniture, apply gold trim to every armoire, and voila! Five-star experience. But the Fereldans…”

Bull took the space of silence between Dorian’s thoughts for the offer that it was and came up with his own conclusion. “You’re afraid they’ll be put off by all that sparkly shit and not want to stay here?”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Dorian shrugged, his eyes never leaving the empty spot on the dark wood table that he’d had customized with an inlaid, off-white marble surface. The anxious clack of his boots upon the tile hardly echoed at all due to the heavy curtains framing each arched window, Bull noticed.

They weren’t the patterned royal sea silk material Dorian normally used as Skyhold’s drapery. In fact, more and more Bull could spot the changes Dorian made to ensure that this hotel would cater more towards a southern taste; rich, but homey; refined, yet rustic in that purposely unpolished sort of way. It was an impressive attention to detail considering their new audience.

Floral arrangements tended to be the last item on the list, and Bull understood fully how the wrong type of flower or combination thereof could make or break the mood of room. Dorian also knew this to a certain extent, but his brain was obviously fried from the hustle and bustle of getting all the final touches together before opening day of next week. He was overthinking the issue, as was his wont, and Bull had to snap him out of it before they turned into accent statue pieces from standing here for so long.

“Alright, big guy,” the familiar nick name used to ground Dorian just that little bit, “what kind of arrangement are you envisioning in that brilliant ‘Vint mind of yours?”

Dorian let out a held breath to gather his thoughts before speaking. He then folded his arms and shuffled around the table as if casually scrutinizing a work of art, which in a way he was. “We need something that pops, yes, but not like it’s trying too hard, if that makes any sense. Something that turns heads when people walk in here, and brightens their day whenever they come across it.”

“Okay. What else?” Bull prompted. Jogging Dorian’s creative juices typically got him on the right path again.

“Preferably, we want something that looks good during any season of the year, and won’t wilt easily. Durable, bold, but delicate in its framing. It needs to look untouchable, but not in a dangerous way. More like… well, it’s hard to explain, unfortunately.”

“Uh huh.”

Dorian’s eyes light up whenever he gets an idea in his head. “How about this: the aesthetic appeal of crystal grace, combined with the revered outlook on prophet laurel!”

“Sounds good.”

“Right.” Dorian’s eyes narrow as he sees the fond grin on the qunari’s face. “Are you even taking this seriously, Bull?”

“I am. Actually, I think we’ve found the solution to our problem,” he says while closing the distance between them.

“Oh? Do tell. It’s poor form to keep the rest of the class wai–”

Before Dorian could finish his sentence, a pair of over-sized hands clamp around his hips and heave him up onto the table. It happened so abruptly that Dorian barely had the time to let out an indignant squawk, which would’ve been a mite embarrassing were they not the only ones in here at the moment.

Bulls stepped back to admire his good work and nodded to himself. “There!”

Dorian’s answering bark of laughter lacked the humor suggested in his half-smirk. “And how, pray tell, is this a solution?”

“You wanted something that met all of your qualifications, right? Well, I found it,” he said, as if it were that easy. “Something that pops, but not like it’s trying too hard. Something that turns heads, and brightens your day whenever you see it. Something that looks good during every season of the year. Strong, durable, bold, _delicate_ ,” he flashes his teeth at that one, “untouchable, but not in a dangerous way. Well, _maybe_ in a dangerous way. Depends on how much attention you give it. They can be pretty stubborn if not looked after properly.”

Half way through Bull’s description of his proposed “arrangement”, Dorian re-crossed his arms and lowered his head to hide the smile between pursed lips. He shakes his head once and looks at the man with such utter exasperation and affection that it’s hard to tell which way this little attempt at comforting is going to go. When the smile finally breaks across Dorian’s face, Bull knows he’s won him over.

“You are such an enormous sap that it actually hurts to listen to you sometimes.”

Bull hold out his hands as if proving there’s nothing else up his non-existent sleeve. “Hey. I calls it as I sees it.”

Dorian’s eyes roll to the ceiling as he catches his partner’s wrists and pulls him between his legs. “Well, if we’re going to put me on display, then a change of wardrobe is definitely in order.”

Bull runs his hands down the length of Dorian’s back and slides him closer once they’ve rested on the muscles above that perfectly sculpted ass. “How about that little red number you wore for Valentines day last month?”

Dorian laughs, his abdomen heating at the thought of what transpired after _that little red number_ had come off. “Heads will indeed turn, no doubt.”

An answering chuckle, and Bull leans in towards the gently parted lips that beg to be kissed on a twenty-four hour basis. “That’s what we’re counting on, isn’t it, kadan?”


	3. Anaconda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull is fascinated with Dorian's ass. Dorian laments that neither of them can find anything better to do with their mornings.
> 
> No prompt, just something I did for Adoribull Sunday. Basically a whole lot of fluff and romcom. <3 Enjoy!

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop swatting my bum.”

“Mmm but your bum is so fun, kadan. Just look at how springy it is!”

Dorian let out a gurgled sigh, striking down the urge to swat back at his relentless ass-ailant - oh, Bull would’ve loved that one. He swallowed to clear his throat from the night’s sleep, and found that his brain was still too groggy to make his body do any other motion besides the gentle rippling of his posterior each time Bull slapped it with his middle three fingers. It would take a few more minutes for Skyhold’s morning bell to reach through the haze of Dorian’s barely-consciousness and drag him into daily routine. Apparently, his paramour had a mind to move the process along.

“If you’re checking for a pulse, you’ll do much better elsewhere,” Dorian muttered, not bothering to unsquish his face from the pillow.

“I got all the pulsing I need right here.” Bull sharpened his next thwack in response to Dorian’s aversion, and grinned as the flesh of his right cheek bounced back into a perfect dome after three quick jiggles. It was absolutely mesmerizing.

“You’ve seen my ass move in a hundred different ways, amatus.”

“I have,” Bull put one hand on either side and alternated the swatting until Dorian’s buttocks resembled a swaying mass of gelatin, “And I never get tired of it.”

“Well, I do,” Dorian groused, shifting towards the edge of the bed and away from his lover’s inquisitive copping. It was a rather pathetic effort, he realized, when the Bull simply shimmied himself into arms reach once more and continued the ass-ault (he should be ashamed that the Bull’s influence on him has become so prominent, but Dorian’s on a roll now). Damn that brute, for taking advantage of his poor morning aptitude!

Dorian’s next groan was just shy of not being grumpy enough when Bull took two handfuls and squeezed. “I know you’re in good shape, Dorian, but this thing right here… It’s gotta be genetics.”

“Please refrain from bringing up the subject of my father’s ass while in bed. Or anywhere else, for that matter.”

“Nah. I’m thinking it’s maternal inheritance.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Dorian snorted. The Bull wasn’t wrong, though, loathed as he was to admit it. As a child, he’d once seen his mother freeze the hand of a man in court who tried to augment his relations with house Pavus in a firm, cupping gesture. Only the look in Aquinea’s eyes could rival that of the noble’s frozen appendage. That was one less guest to accommodate, at least.

It was when Bull put his mouth over one of Dorian’s cheeks and started blowing raspberries that the mage had felt he’d endured quite enough of this lunacy. He flipped himself over, ignoring the crestfallen sound from beside him.

“If you’re so disenchanted by what lies on the other side, then perhaps you should become more acquainted.”

It took the Bull nary a second to accept the invitation, much to Dorian’s pleasure. The large, rough fingers slid their way over his thighs and around the chubby sex that lay between, tugging slightly so that the blood could fill it faster.

Dorian sighed again, and this time around it sounded moderately content. If all morning ass-play lead to this, perhaps he could allow Bull his tomfoolery every now and then.

“Hi, I’m Dorian Junior! I love magic, reading, and long handjobs by The Iron Bull.”

The obnoxiously high-pitched voice nudged Dorian out of his drowsy state. He looked down at the Bull, who had taken to flopping Dorian’s semi-flaccid member back and forth as if it were a cognizant, talking extension of himself. It was the most ridiculous thing a bed-partner had ever done with his penis, and the urge to laugh and cry and throw something at the same time rendered the mage a bit speechless.

“I also like to twirl my fancy mustache pubes. They need to be groomed every five minutes!” The cracks in Bull’s voice as he tried to keep up the feminine cadence did nothing for Dorian’s ebbing arousal.

“For all that is fucking holy, Bull…”

“My boyfriend, The Iron Rod, satisfies me eeeevery night!”

“I swear, if you–”

“If I don’t come at least four times a day–”

“–ight this instant, I’ll–”

“–EXPLODE into a million tiny dicks!”

Bull’s laughter could be felt through the pillow currently smothering his face. How he was able to get a breath in edgewise was beyond Dorian. He’d probably have a better grip if he weren’t trying to contain his own amusement.

“I told you what would happen, didn’t I? Now, suffer!”

This only made the Bull laugh harder, of course, but it didn’t stop him from digging into Dorian’s sides and skittering his fingers across the mage’s ribs. The frantic cries of “NO NO NO” were drowned out by helpless cackles, followed by Bull bellowing triumphantly. Dorian _hated_ being tickled, and the big lout knew this and treasured the knowledge like it was the greatest discovery known to mankind.

“I hate you! Stop! I s-swear–”

“You swear a lot, Dorian; gonna have to be more specific.”

“Oh, come off it, you savage!”

Bull ceased his onslaught as soon as he caught those preliminary sparks in the corner of his eye. He’d learned his lesson last time when his hands had been shocked to hell and back by Dorian’s tickle-proof defense. It wasn’t voluntary on the mage’s part, which made both parties feel bad in the end.

“Had enough?” The Bull huffed out, both of them struggling to catch their breath. He sat back on his heels and inspected Dorian from the waist up - chest heaving, hair in shambles, skin glowing as if Andraste herself had birthed him - the way he looked after a thorough fuck.

“I think that’ll do for today, amatus.” Dorian smiled, genuine, eyes shining with mirth. “If all the racket we’ve been making hasn’t woken up the rest of Skyhold by now, then I’m afraid only Corepheus himself could finish the job.”

“Wanna go see if our labor bore any fruit?”

“As long as we get to eat the fruit.”

“What about bacon?”

Dorian had one more eye roll left in him. “Sure, why not?”

The Bull, who recovered ever so easily at the prospect of food, leaned down to give his lover the first of many ongoing kisses that day – this one was slow, sweet, and lingering. They would build up from there.

“Really, though,” Dorian said as they pulled away for the seventh time, and fixated the Bull with his most incredulous look. “‘Dorian Junior’? I’m not _that_ pretentious.”


	4. What I Like About You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Bull discuss each other's finer points.
> 
> I've always liked the little indent in Dorian's lower lip, and I think Bull would too. <3  
> (I hit a block near the end of this fic, so I'm sorry if it seems cut short.)

The Iron Bull was a lucky bastard. The man himself thought as much as he lay awake in bed one lackadaisical morning, accompanied by a familiar, warm body, and a soft sound ghosting over the hole in his roof. 

It was going to be a chilly day if the wind was already cutting its path through the mountains. 

Dorian Pavus was never an early bird to begin with, but in the cooler months it would become nearly impossible to rouse him from his hibernation-like state, folded as he was, like a brown egg in a bowl of bread dough. Sometimes, Bull would pile all their blankets on top of Dorian and call him "petit croissant", or he'd knead the half asleep mage back and forth like a great rolling pin, until all the drowsiness was squeezed out indefinitely. 

There were those days, however, when the heat of last night had yet to finish sifting through them, phantoms of fingerprints and fevered breath still echoing well through the sun's ascension. 

So, the Bull was not one to waste – he would mold Dorian with his lips, his hands, and his words, just enough to unfurl those long, dusky limbs, only to have them latch onto another, more fleshy, source of warmth. It was Dorian's prefered wake-up call out of the dozens he'd received, and Bull wouldn't disagree.  _"Amatus..."_ He'd breathe into the Bull, as if the very air were spirited from his lungs. In turn, the low vibration at the back of Bull's throat would rattle them both, until Dorian shook from carnal overindulgence. It was this level of high, when Dorian was hard-pressed to refuse any of his lover's administrations or suggestions, that the Bull felt he could take his time mapping out all the bits and pieces he had an unusual affinity for. 

Like that dimple in Dorian's bottom lip. 

Oh, he could write sonnets about those lips, if the Bull were so lyrically inclined for anything other than tavern anthems, but that dimple went beyond description; the way the light hits it, falling into shadow and bringing out the fullness of Dorian's mouth, and how much more prominent it was when pushed into a pout. It was a small, unobtrusive feature of the mage, but it was one of Bull's favorites. He told Dorian this as they shifted against each other, trading lazy kisses and being unabashedly "schmoopy", as Sera would describe it. 

"Is it really so conspicuous?" Dorian's fingertips brushed over his dimple, trying to discern how deeply it went when he moved his mouth. 

Bull took the wandering hand and pressed it to his own lips, successfully drawing the mage's eye back to where he wanted it. "It looks fine, kadan. I didn't say that to make you feel self-conscious." 

"Self-conscious?" Dorian scoffed. "What an idea! You're simply saying that it's one of the many attributes that make me so physically compelling, yes?" 

Bull's smirk tugged at the patch of scars over his missing eye. "You could say that." 

A calculated hum in response. Dorian's gaze narrowed into one of curiosity, although it was anything but innocent, as he glanced down at his varnished nails, suddenly worth scrutiny. He clicked his tongue before asking, "Is that the only characteristic that catches your eye, amatus?" 

"Oh, so I'm 'amatus' now, am I?" 

Bull's body shook with laughter as soon as he saw the sour expression he was hoping for. Being pinned by those eyes was more thrilling than any length of rope could offer. 

"Fine. Let's go about this in a more economical fashion, shall we? I reveal something that I particularly like about you, and you return the favor." 

"You want to swap compliments? Ha! Leave it to the Vints to make canoodling into a business transaction." 

"Excuse _you_ , but canoodling plays a big part in Tevinter commerce, I'll have you know. How do you think we established such a powerful trading enterprise for ourselves – throwing tea parties?" 

"As much as I'd like to hear a history lesson on how your people schmoozed their way through politics, I'm still waiting for that compliment you promised." 

"Not so sure I'm willing to give it now," the altus huffed with no amount of heat. 

"Two for the price of one, eh? Alright." Bull propped himself up on one elbow and leaned towards Dorian, who lay quietly on his back as he waited. "I'll allow it, since this is your first time bargaining with The Bull, _and_ since you're so damn adorable. That one doesn't count, by the way." 

"Naturally. Go on, then." 

Bull squinted and exhaled through his nose, playing as if he hadn't already filed away every admirable little trait about his kadan. He raked his eye along the line of Dorian's naked body, cataloguing all the different contours, from bone to muscle to what little fat protected it all; the textural transition from smooth copper skin to a trail of dark hair leading down-down-down, perfectly framing what the Maker gave him. And that face... where to begin? 

"I understand how difficult it can be to focus on one thing at a time when it comes to fine art, but you can surely speak while you're thinking." Dorian smiled knowingly. "Come now - no use in keeping it all bottled up. That head injury from the other day might not be able to take it." 

"Your ass." 

"Ah. Not that I disagree, per se, but why start there?" 

"Because you take after it so well." 

"WELL then!" Dorian responded with overt cheerfulness and a purposefully sharp smack to Bull's left pec. "I guess it's only fair that I start with your **_cock_**." 

Bull rubbed at the sensitive skin around his nipple, smiling like the big kid he was. "And I encourage that, kadan, but you didn't let me finish." 

"Oh, is there an essay portion? I was never any good at those..." Dorian sighed. 

"The packaging is always top notch, especially in leathers. Just the way it stretches..." Bull gave an over exaggerated attempt at a wink, "nice." 

"This is all true, but isn't it more rewarding to see what's underneath said packaging?" Dorian asked with a purr. 

"Oh yeah, no doubt about that. We're talking about some prime real estate here." Bull rolled Dorian over to lay a hand on the ass in question. "The range of motion it has would tempt the most devout chantry sisters, I bet. Good grip, tight fit - it has it all." 

"You're welcome to test the merchandise later, if you wish," Dorian said while making himself comfortable in his new position, jumping a bit at the little smack he got for his suggestion. 

"Don't mind if I do," Bull rumbled. 

"Mmm... I suppose it's my turn." 

Before Dorian could begin, a loud crack from the window caught their attention. Silence lagged until the familiar far-off "so----rry!" could be heard somewhere outside. More sunrise shenanigans, courtesy of a certain Red Jenny. They were probably better off not knowing what that was all about. 

Dorian continued. "I guess we'll start with..."  

"Bull Jr? I wouldn't blame you." 

"I was _going_ to say your hands." 

"Ha! Really? That include Stubby #1 and Stubby #2?" Bull wiggled the two severed appendages on his left hand. 

"They're very large, and strong," Dorian's palm met Bull's own and mirrored the flex of each others fingers, "and they're quite useful for carrying my purchases. _'_ _Tha_ _t's not all they're useful for_ _'_. Yes, yes, good one, amatus." 

Bull closed his mouth, a tickle of pride catching him off guard. His kadan had gotten so good at being able to predict him. 

"You also seem to know just where to put them without me telling you." This could have been in reference to what Bull's hand was currently doing, but far be it from him to complain. 

"What can I say? They have a mind of their own sometimes." 

" _Sometimes_ , he says," Dorian tutted. "So, was that enough, or is there a surprise talent portion I was unaware of?" 

"Meh. You passed," Bull shrugged. 

"Hm. Well, that simply will not do. I'll have to make up for it in the next round." 

"You'll get plenty of chances, kadan. But first, let's talk about your hair." 

"Ohhh yes, let's!" Dorian preened, sliding his fingers through the coal-colored locks. 

"I don't see many human men maintain their hair quite as meticulously as you do, and I gotta admit, the payoff is impressive." 

"The finest products will do that, you know. Orlais' shipping fees can get a bit steep, but when you live in Fereldan it's either that, or glorified druffalo spit." 

Bull joined in on the hair ruffling, paying extra attention to the roots where he knew Dorian enjoyed being rubbed. "I even like it without all those fancy oils, when it's all fluffy and sticks out in weird spots." 

"Of course you would, you plebeian," Dorian chuckled fondly. 

"I especially like it when its grown out long enough for me to grab in bed." At that, the Bull's hold tightened and pulled, garnering an involuntary gasp from the mage's now taut neck. "Couldn't ask for better leverage if I had you bound and leashed." 

A breathy laugh. "And we're no stranger to that, are we." 

Bull just grinned before letting go and readjusting himself against the pillows. 

"You like making a show out of this, don't you?" 

"You're into it." 

"I never said I wasn't, darling." 

Slowly, Dorian reached out to touch the pliable mass of chest in front of him, then moving towards those massive grey arms, and finally pausing at the mountainous terrain of Bull's trapezius muscles, all the while making little noises of appreciation. 

There was much to say about the anatomy of a qunari, and even more so of Bull's. No one really mentioned it because the fact was just so explicitly out there for all to see - the Iron Bull was big. Everything he did and said reflected this, and pointing it out so plainly was like saying the sky is blue, or that Fereldan ale tastes like puke from a mule that's been ruminating in Blackwall's boots for two months, yet is somehow the best damn drink this side of the south. 

Once Bull started flexing in the most unsubtle way possible, Dorian put a halt to his lust-induced trance and turned focus back onto their little game. 

"Right. I guess I'll have to condense all of this into one neat package then." 

"Which would be...?" 

"Your physique, obviously." 

Bull laughs. "Yeah, that's pretty generalized." 

"I appreciate a man who knows how to take care of himself. No shame in that." 

"No shame at all. It's basic instinct to want the healthiest mate available." 

"Ugh. You make it sound like we're a bunch of lascivious nugs." 

"Well, if we were, I'd be that big-ass pink one we found in the Deep Roads." 

"The legendary king of all nugs? Why am I not surprised." 

Bull's posturing lasted for a minute more before a smooth eyebrow quirk from Dorian tampered the theatrics. "Anyway, you were saying?" 

"I believe you've said enough for the both of us on this matter. It's your turn now." 

"Oh. Okay then." Bull said, sounding slightly disappointed. 

"Don't fret, amatus." The mage smoothed his hand over his lover's bicep and squeezed, a gesture filled with promise. "I'll give your muscles some special attention later tonight." 

"Aww, a massage? You're too thoughtful, kadan." 

Dorian's voice lowered until he felt vibrations in his own chest. "If that's what you want to call it." 

In that moment, Dorian marveled at the fact that he'd never seen Bull with goosebumps before. Perhaps the teasing would be best served for when they weren't lying naked and warm in bed together. 

That sounded entirely backwards. 

Bull thought so too, apparently, as he rolled on top of Dorian and proceeded to crush the living daylights out of him. 

"I said _later,_ you lummox!" Dorian croaked, trying to shimmy his way out of the hold so his lungs could do their job properly. 

Bull's arms circled around the mage and he flexed, coaxing a small "oof!" from beneath him. "Still got more to say, huh? Careful kadan. If you keep praising me without leaving any for yourself, you might melt!" he exclaimed into Dorian's neck, mindful of his horns. 

"Ha! As if my power source is merely limited to word of mouth. Just the way people gawk when I pass by will keep me steadfast for at least another lifetime." 

"It'll keep something else steadfast too, if you know what I mean." 

"Ahh yes, waltzed right into that one." 

Bull was enough of a gentleman to give Dorian some breathing room by propping onto his elbows. "Alright, let's speed things up." 

"So impatient!" 

"Yeah, yeah, anyway – your eyes are next. They're like waves upon a rocky shore; lightning across a storm cloud; silverite under the midnight moon..." 

Dorian's brow arched comically. "Have you been reading Cassandra's novels?" 

"I look into those eyes and it feels like I've fallen under an enchantment. They pierce me, like a blade run through. Through them I can see your strength, your gentleness, and – hey now." 

Bull placed his palm on Dorian's cheek and realigned their gazes. A new warmth, not caused by the sun's intrusive rays, had bloomed beneath the darker skin - a shy, visible protest of the words falling from the qunari's mouth. "I thought you wanted to speed things up," Dorian muttered, not unkindly. 

Bull was utterly smitten, and he let it show through the big, toothy smile on his face. "I am. After I'm done here, you'll have so much blood in your head that we'll have no choice but to redirect it somewhere else." 

Dorian sighed, eyes fluttering to the ceiling. "Of _course_ you would spout poetry for sex. Why ever did I think you could possibly have an ounce of romance in you?" 

"Pfft! What's that?" 

"Oh shut up." Dorian punctuated his good-natured disdain with a pillow to the face. 

Bull spat until a loose feather twirled from the corner of his mouth. (That was the fourth gored pillow this month. The quartermaster would not be pleased.) "Since you know so much about romance, I expect to get as good as I gave." One more spit for good measure. 

"Easy," he says.  "Subject: your backside." 

"Was wondering when this would come up." 

"Hush!" Dorian gripes, clearing his throat. "I have to admit, my eyes have a hard time focusing on much else when we're traveling. If I had to liken the experience of touching such a grand expanse of skin and muscle, it'd be like running your hands over the Frostback mountain range. Every dip and scar is laid out like a map begging to be explored, but there's no use in committing it to memory. It shifts, constantly changing shape and depth. I'm convinced it has its own climate." 

Bull laughed. The description wasn't as flowery as his own, but it was very Dorian. The man couldn't go three sentences without a snappy little quip, and only those who had the luxury of calling him friend knew what lay beyond that blanket barrier of begrudging affection. 

"One could mistake you for those big dwarven statues scattered across Fereldan." 

"A big dwarf with horns." 

"Yes, Bull. A big dwarf with horns." 

It was a slow, distracting minute of Bull following the curve of Dorian's collar bone before he found his voice again. "Speaking of, you haven't really mentioned my horns in all this." 

"Oh? Should I have?" 

"Well, I mean, look at them!" Bull lowered his head, nearly knocking Dorian in the eye had he not jerked away in time. "Biggest damn horns you've ever seen, right?" 

"They are rather impressive for qunari horns, I guess." Dorian floundered at the ever-increasing frown on Bull's face. "Very large and, uh, sturdy. Good for gripping...?" 

The bed frame creaked as Bull sank face first into the mattress, and along with it, his pride. "You humans. No appreciation for the finer things." 

"Look, amatus, your horns are lovely, no one is disputing that." The pout on the warrior's face almost undid him. "But there are so many other things about you that intrigue me, you see." 

 "Yeah?"  

"Is what I've been saying not testament enough?" Dorian lounged next to the Bull and watched as his partner magically inflated to his former self. 

"It is. I just like hearing you talk." 

"Oh my! You keep all that charm somewhere special?" 

"Just right here." Bull rolled over and put a hand to his heart, which would have been touching if he wasn't trying so hard not to crack. 

Having a mite less restraint, Dorian snorted in a fashion that wouldn't make it past their bedroom door, and shoved the qunari away. "The level of sap has been exceeded. You're cut off for today." 

"But it's only morning!" 

"I don't think my health can take more than one dose of sugar a day, darling." 

"Ha! If there's anyone else around here who can outmatch your sweet tooth, I'd like to meet'em." Prior to a retort that never came, Dorian allowed himself to be corralled into Bull's arms once more. 

The sound of loud greetings and metal boots hitting stone were finally picking up on the battlements outside; Cullen's early morning patrol had come to replace the previous set of guards who'd been keeping watch since the small hours of night. It wouldn't be long before the rest of Skyhold's inhabitants emerged to fill the tavern below with their sleepy chatter and steaming plates of sausage and fresh bread. 

First would come the mothers and their children, wanting to bypass the breakfast rush so they could scurry along to their lessons. The Chargers would then secure their nook and discuss the day's schedule so they could start without having to wait for their chief. Soldiers had their food waiting for them in the barracks after training, since a full stomach never did anyone a lick of good during shield bash drills. The rest of the Inquisition would file in at their leisure, with Dorian and Bull following soon after. Today would be much the same, it seemed. 

"So," Bull croaked as he arched his back into a stretch, "you ready to face the world, or do you need more buttering?" 

"...Now you have me thinking of those delightful buttered scones that Elven woman sells." 

"Are you offering?" 

"Oh, I suppose," Dorian's head lolled to the side. "But before that, I have one last request." 

The skin of Dorian's shoulder tingled under his partner's warm and husky reply. "Name it, kadan." 

"What's your favorite look on me?" 

Bull blindly traced the moles – pardon, _beauty marks_ – that dotted Dorian's back as he pondered. "How do you mean?" 

"You've described the parts of me that you like. When does it all come together for you? Paint me a picture," Dorian asked, making himself more comfortable. 

Bull counted six moles so far, but he knew for a fact that there were eleven. He lightened his touch to just the pads of his fingers in order to find the smaller ones along Dorian's spine, smiling when he felt a shiver against his chest. The man's adamant claims of how not-ticklish he was could have trumped the number of Tethras books Cassandra "didn't" own. 

"Probably that moment right after sex..." Bull's said, pensive. "When you've just come off my cock, flushed from head to shoulders, giving me that sweet, wrecked look – it's as if you've received a gift." 

Dorian stilled, pressing his lips together and finding sudden interest in the qunari's neckline. It was a cold day in the void whenever Bull was able to render his kadan speechless. 

"What? Did I overdo it on the sap again?" 

"Oh, indeed," Dorian said, words fluttering with semi-nervous laughter. 

"Well, damn it all," he says with affection. "But it was a good answer, right?" 

"Maybe a little _too_ good." 

Bull didn't need much of a hint to what Dorian was talking about, not when he could feel said hint nudging against his thigh. He laughs. "Hold on a sec! What about me? Don't I get an overview?" 

"Of a sort." Dorian's smile meets the Bull's in a heated lip-lock, followed by _"finally"_. 

The mage squirmed until he was fully on top, guiding Bull's arm to clamp around his waist in his impatience. Their moans, once muted from incessant contact, cut through the air as Dorian opened his mouth to let Bull's tongue swipe and press over the exact spot on his lips inhabited by the infamous dimple that was so cherished. 

"What say we spend some time going over everything we've learned today, hm?" Dorian purred against his lover's mouth. 

Bull turned them over, voice uneven and full of promise. "Sounds like a plan, sweetheart." 


End file.
